


All Silent as Before, but With a Difference

by marbletopempire



Series: Centuries and Centuries [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon Queer Relationship, Community: theoldguardkinkmeme, Knifeplay, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, actually more like memories of knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27252484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marbletopempire/pseuds/marbletopempire
Summary: They've finally found Sebastien Le Livre, and he's a wreck.  In deference to their new companion's mental state, Nico and Joseph try to avoid - ah, certain activities.  It works for about two weeks.Inspired by a KinkMeme prompt.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Centuries and Centuries [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003758
Comments: 16
Kudos: 240





	All Silent as Before, but With a Difference

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt.](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5880.html?thread=1986808#cmt1986808) Definitely deviated slightly, because I am apparently incapable of straight smut, but hopefully it falls within the desired parameters.

**Moscow, 1812**

The new one was a hollow shell of a man, to look at him. He’d been sitting, not talking, on the velvet upholstered chair, for a full ten minutes, clutching – there was no other word for it – onto a cup of tea. It was steaming when it had been pressed into his hands, but the steam had disappeared long ago. _Poor bastard_ , Joseph thinks. He cannot help it: the man looks an absolute wreck. Whatever turmoil is taking place inside is writ large in his slumped posture, his wide unseeing eyes, and his dirty uniform. He looks like hell.

“It is hard to comprehend,” Nico finally says into the silence. The man startles slightly upon hearing his voice; it’s the first sound in the flat for many long moments besides their breathing and the heavy ticking of the grandfather clock that looms behind Sebastien Le Livre’s chair. _Time. As if we need a reminder._

“Yes,” he responds. “Yes it is.” His voice is gravely from disuse; he’d barely said a word since they’d found him that morning. Joseph had offered his hand and the man had looked up from where he’d been kneeling in the mud, snow falling lightly all around them, flakes settling in his dark brown hair and the lashes of his red-rimmed eyes. The very picture of misery. _Poor bastard_ , Joseph thinks again.

He sighs deeply and sets the cup next to his feet. “Is there a bedroom? I find myself suddenly exhausted.” He offers up a weak smile clearly meant to placate the group – to convey that they should not worry on his behalf. The sadness in his eyes tells an altogether different story.

Nico catches Joseph’s concerned glance before looking to Andromache, who is standing heavily against the sink. There’s a question in his eyes: Should we let him alone? She nods tightly, once.

“Of course. Please, come with me.” Nico walks to the door and waits for Sebastien to follow.

As the door closes behind them, Joseph turns to Andy. “He seems to be taking it well, don’t you think?” One raised eyebrow and a swig of vodka is her only response.

* * *

Silence settles heavily on their little room that night. Snow still falls thick and fast outside the window and a bright full moon’s light – obscured even as it is by clouds -transforms the space into a blue and grey world. The Russian winter seems to creep in from the glass, looking for unsuspecting victims. It lingers over a painting across from the bed of the most innocuous view in the world - cows in a field – and transforms it into something mournful. Slowly, it makes its way over the wooden floors to the nightstand, where a set of golden rings glows dully; the cold sucks away whatever warmth still lingers from their owners’ hands. It hovers over the bed and finally comes to rest on the noses of Joseph and Nico, who are curled up tightly around each other, huddled under a wool blanket. They are awake.

“Do you think he’s all right?” Nico asks. His breath clouds the air.

“He will be,” Joseph responds into Nico’s hair. He has to work to sound confident because he does not feel it at all: the look on the man’s face had been something close to haunting. It’s affecting all of them. A selfish thought flashes quicksilver through Joseph’s mind, there and gone just as fast: He wishes they had waited to find him tomorrow. This is their first night in a room in a very long time, and he’d been fantasizing about getting inside of Nico for _weeks_. How he would love to indulge himself – both of them - with pleasure; to tie him down, perhaps, and lick and kiss every inch of his beloved’s skin until he begged for relief. Or to partake in a darker hedonism, one of the handful of delights they’d picked up and held onto over the years. He imagines his hands on Nico’s throat. Blood against his parchment white skin.

Despite the cold and the gloom, Joseph’s neglected cock stirs with interest. Nico huffs out a quiet laugh and turns in his arms. He tucks his hands beneath his head and Joseph thinks for perhaps the millionth time in his life, that it must have been destiny that brought them together, because luck this substantial simply could not exist.

“And what were you just thinking?” Nico says this with an amused smile.

“That I have been looking forward to this evening for weeks, but now the mood isn’t quite what I had hoped it to be.” Joseph kisses his nose. It’s freezing.

“Oh yes? Tell me more, my love.”

Joseph grins, showing all of his teeth. “Well, you’ll notice these four walls around us? And that door, with the lock?”

Nico smirks. “I had not, but now that you point them out…”

“Your astute powers of observation would have also allowed you to note that we share a bedroom wall with our new friend. And that these walls are not particularly thick.” Joseph kisses against the heavy column of Nico’s neck. He arches back to give Joseph more room to work.

“We can be quiet,” he whispers in response. Nico moves his hand from beneath his head and slips it down the broad planes of Joseph’s chest. Joseph grips his wrist and laughs, his dimple pulling in tight.

“ _I_ can be quiet, love. I do not think that particular skill is in your repertoire.”

Nico’s face rearranges itself into mock outrage. “You think I could not be quiet?”

“Not with my cock inside of you, no.”

Nico’s blood heats at the words. He jerks his hand from Joseph’s grip to resume its journey down to the cock in question. Lowering his mouth to hover next to Joseph’s ear, he whispers, “Why don’t we test your little theory? I believe that I can prove you wrong.” He lays a kiss against his neck at the same time his hand strokes Joseph’s cock, pulling a moan from him, a tight strangled sound that makes Nico’s whole body draw tight with anticipation.

“Shhhh. I thought you were the expert on staying quiet.” Joseph’s hips jerk up into Nico’s hand.

“You are being a tease.”

“I am. But you like me that way.” He bites down hard on Joseph’s ear. Centuries together have taught him many of the same lessons Joseph has learned, chief among them that nothing makes Joseph lose control quicker than the sharp reminder of pain.

“Nico, we should stop.” His hips are rocking against Nico now, tiny movements as if he cannot help himself. Nico’s cock jumps. He is winning. But he wants to be sure.

“I always come so hard when you’re inside of me.”

Joseph groans with frustration. “I _know_ , Nico, that’s the problem.”

“But I’ll be quiet tonight.”

Joseph grits his teeth and looks up at Nico’s face. “You won’t. I know you won’t.” Real irritation rushes through Nico then; his hand tightens around Joseph’s cock involuntarily. Joseph hisses through his clenched jaw.

“Joseph, I can be quiet.”

“Nico, you cannot.” They stare at each other for a long moment before Nico sighs deeply and lowers his head to nuzzle against Joseph’s neck.

“I would like to state for the record that I _can_ stay quiet, but I understand and appreciate your consideration.”

Joseph sweeps his arm up Nico’s back, stroking in a gentle back and forth that brings calm to them both. He kisses his hair. “I can’t imagine what he’s going through.”

“I know,” says Nico. “Maybe Andy will be able to help. She was alone for a long time, before…” He trails off, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid. _Before Quynh._

Joseph considers the sheer volume of vodka she’s consumed over the past century or so. Before that it was gin; before that, whiskey. Ever since they lost Quynh it’s as if she’s been daring whatever power keeps them alive to kill her. He worries that, unfortunately, Sebastien may be a very good match for her indeed.

Joseph tightens his arm around Nico. “He’ll be all right, but there’s too much newness now. Perhaps we give him some time to wrap his head around immortality before mentioning that the bargain includes occasionally hearing us fuck."

Nico sighs again. “You are a good man, Joseph. I hate you for it right now, though.”

Joseph chuckles at that. “You’re allowed.”

* * *

Two weeks later, the cracks in Joseph’s resolve start to show. He, Andy, and Sebastien are playing mariasch at the small table under the window in the kitchen, and Nico is quietly cooking. As Andy cuts the cards and begins to deal, Joseph’s gaze wanders over to his beloved and lingers on his competent hands as they slice a large head of cabbage. It is not his hands that arrest his attention; rather, it is the knife. Nico catches his heated gaze and licks his lips, and Joseph thinks of other rooms; other knives. Of the last time they’d indulged in that particular play, the way that Nico had pretended to fight his advances, had wanted him angry and rough, the _sound_ that he’d made when the blade cut gently along the base of his neck, how it had made Nico’s cock dribble come from that alone…

“Joseph. Joseph.” Andy is waving her hand in front of him with her eyebrows raised. “Your round.” He shakes his head as if to clear it and laughs.

“I apologize, I have no idea what came over me,” he says. He picks up his cards and notes absently that it’s a terrible hand. From the corner of his eye he sees Andy smirk.

“Missing something?” she asks pointedly.

“I do not know what you’re talking about,” responds Joseph primly.

Sebastien does not ask for clarification.

* * *

A few days after that, Joseph understands that Nico is trying to make him snap. They are sitting lazily in front of the fire, painting a domestic picture indeed; Joseph sketching and Nico browsing the paper in separate wingbacks next to the fireplace, Sebastien and Andy reading on opposite ends of the sofa facing them. The fire cracks and pops merrily behind him. They still have not made a decision about where to go next, though Joseph worries it may be a trip back to France – Sebastien has been adamant so far in his desire to see his family again. He says that he misses his wife. Joseph can only imagine.

Nico lowers the paper and says to him, “You know, it has been quite some time since you’ve sketched me.”

Sebastien looks up with interest from his novel. “Do you do portraits too, Joseph?” When Sebastien had complimented the painting above the mantle a few days before, he’d learned it was one of Joseph’s works. Most of the paintings in the flat were Joseph’s, actually. He had long considered this a convenient side effect of having homes all over the world: Plenty of wall space.

“I do,” responds Joseph to Sebastien. To Nico he says, “Are you requesting a session?”

“I believe that I am,” he responds.

And though he does not need to – because, after lifetimes together, Joseph has every line of Nico’s body memorized – Joseph casts his eye on Nico to see what they might find this time. He starts with his torso and legs, quickly filling in how he sits in the chair. His persona just then is insouciant; his legs are spread slightly, the tall boots planted firmly on the rug below, his hips rising faintly as Joseph’s gaze wanders over the planes of his chest.

Joseph’s gaze cuts up to Nico’s at that movement, and he sees lust there, shining brightly from those fucking magical eyes. _So this is the game,_ Joseph thinks, and licks his lips. He glances quickly over to Sebastien – who has apparently lost interest – and Andy – who apparently never had any. He cocks an eyebrow at Nico, who smirks back, and starts in on his face.

His pencil fills in the shape of Nico’s jaw and Joseph sees in his mind’s eye his hand along the line of that jaw to hold him in place as his tongue enters his mouth. He sketches the light dusting of a beard just beginning to come in, his hair grown a little long and pushed behind his ears, and he sees his hands in the strands to hold Nico’s head back as he slides into him. Next, the arch of his nose, his blue-green eyes, the color of which he still cannot get quite right, which brings to mind their scorching gazes locked together as Joseph fucks into him as deep as he can.

The memories - images of a thousand different Nicolos and Yusufs fucking through the centuries- floods his mind, and desire grows steadily until his breath begins to come a little short. Still, he tries to focus.

Last is his mouth, where Nico’s thumb lies heavy on the bottom lip. As Joseph stares, adding the digit to his sketch, the thumb barely enters that mouth so he can bite down gently and draw his tongue over the skin. Joseph swears he feels it on his cock. Their gazes lock now, hot desire flaring up between them as real as the fire crackling in the grate. Nico casually stands and walks to the door, Joseph’s gaze on him the entire time. He stops at the frame and looks back to Joseph before walking out; an unmistakable invitation on his beautiful face. Joseph knows he’s gone to the little tiled washroom, so he waits as long as he can, continuing his sketch and trying to ignore the heavy, delicious heat of his lust, before finally leaving the room. Andy and Sebastien do not look up.

* * *

As the door closes, Joseph falls on Nico against the wall and clamps his hand over his mouth.

“You must be quiet.”

Nico nods frantically behind his palm, his hands scrabble at Joseph’s arm, digging his fingernails into his fine lawn shirt. Joseph lays the length of his body all along Nico’s and slots his leg between his. Immediately Nico undulates on his thigh, desperate for contact. His moans are muffled against Joseph’s skin.

“Quiet, remember?” Joseph removes his hand slowly, as if he’s waiting for a sound.

“Yes,” Nico whimpers. “Please, just fuck me. It’s been too long, I can’t – “

“Shhh. I’ve got you.” Joseph works his hands between them and fumbles at the buttons on Nico’s vest, the lust pulsing through him making him unsteady. He pulls the vest down his arms and jerks his shirt out of his trousers, but it’s not fast enough. An impatient moan comes from Nico.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters. His hands come up to unlace the front of his trousers.

“Always so greedy,” says Joseph. “You know I want to make you scream, my love, but you cannot.” Nico’s breath stutters against his lips at the proclamation. His breath comes even shorter when Joseph throws him bodily to the bed and climbs on top of him.

“I want to hear every sound you can give; every moan and whine – but, I cannot.”

Nico’s blood pumps faster with the repeated reminder: be quiet. “I want to tie you up and ruin you, love, but your moaning…it would be too much. But I find that I have to fuck you.”

“Good,” Nico sighs, “get on with it then.” He pulls his shirt over his head and his trousers down past his ass and lies back against the bed. “Fuck me.”

Joseph’s soft chuckle is his only response. He crawls back off the bed and pulls at Nico’s tall boots before dragging Nico’s trousers all the way down and tossing them to the floor.

“There,” he mutters. He eyes his beloved’s naked body spread out before him. “Much better.”

“Please, Joseph, come _on_.” Nico lets out a desperate moan. Joseph raises his eyebrows at the sound. He loves it when Nico gets like this, frenzied with desire, frantic with the need to be filled. Perhaps the past months of abstinence have been worth it.

“Do I need to gag you?” he asks calmly.

Nico flushes beautifully at the question, but says, “No.” He _can_ be quiet.

Joseph grabs the jar of grease from the drawer and dips three fingers into it, watching Nico’s lust blown expression as he does it. “This is what you want? My fingers in you?”

“No, I want your cock, Joseph, for God’s _sake_ you know that.”

“All in good time. We can’t get straight to that, you would scream in truth.” Nico’s blood thrums heavily at the thought. They’ve done it before; Joseph fucking him almost dry. The sharp edge of pain makes him delirious with pleasure. Joseph climbs back onto the bed and pushes apart Nico’s thighs. They spread willingly.

“How long has it been?” Joseph asks.

“Too long.” Nico sighs in frustration and jerks his hips up. “ _Please_ , Yusuf.”

A wave of pleasure goes through Joseph at his given name, it takes him back, as it always does, to when they first met, their desperate fumbling and words of helpless love.

“Nicolo.” He puts his fingers between Nico's legs, behind his balls, and rubs gently at the skin there, with its mysterious pleasurable properties. Nico’s hips stutter again, and his eyes squeeze shut.

“Don’t make me beg.”

“Ah, but what if I want you to beg?” He circles Nico’s hole and waits, arousal thrumming through him, but desperate enough for that last hit of Nico’s frantic desire to stall. Nico’s eyes snap open and catch his gaze; Joseph is sure his own lust is mirrored back to him.

“Yusuf. _Please.”_

It’s enough. He pushes a finger in slowly, mindful of how long it’s been. Nico’s back arches gracefully off the bed, and though he’s seen it a thousand times, it’s still the most beautiful movement Joseph has ever laid eyes upon.

“More.” Nico licks his lips before biting down. His eyes are closed again. Joseph obliges, pushing another finger in.

“Look at me,” he says, at the same time he twists his wrist and bends his fingers to press against that glorious mysterious place that has had Nico seeing stars for seven hundred years. Their eyes lock just as Joseph hits it. Nico’s lips part and he gasps.

“Quiet,” Joseph reminds him. Nico throws his arm over his mouth and bites into the skin to keep silent. He pushes in and rubs at that spot, opening him up until Nico is whining – _quietly_ – beneath him, his hips jerking up and his free hand twisting the bedsheets into knots. When he slides his fingers out, Nico removes his arm and looks up at Joseph with fevered desperation in his eyes.

“Please,” he mouths.

Joseph grabs the grease again and applies it liberally to his cock, not breaking their gaze for a second. Nico’s hands travel up Joseph’s arms and into his hair, drawing him in even as he pushes forward.

Nico’s sharp moan of pleasure at the invasion is cut off by Joseph’s mouth on his. He rests his thumb on his beloved’s jawline, holding his head still as their tongues slide over one another. Joseph realizes with a start that they haven’t kissed since he’d entered the room. Desperation had made them too wild.

They move against each other, trading gasps and moans from one to the other, kissing lazily and slowly for a moment, savoring their connection, and then faster and deeper as desire reasserts itself.

Nico’s hands clench in Joseph’s hair to draw his head back. “Fuck me harder,” he commands, and Joseph is powerless to resist – all considerate thoughts for their new companion’s emotional well-being disappears in the face of the pleasure they bring to each other.

He sits back on his heels and thrusts in as deep as he can get, his fingernails digging into Nico’s hips so that he can impale him more thoroughly. Nico’s hands reach down to pull his legs back and Joseph looks down at where his cock disappears into him. Arousal takes him by the throat. He moans – too loud, he knows immediately.

Nico huffs out a laugh that turns into another moan at a particularly delicious thrust. “Do I need to gag you, now?”

“Fuck off,” he mutters in response.

“Mmm. Bossy.”

Joseph drops down to his forearms and bears down on Nico, his hips pumping furiously now. His hands twine through Nico’s hair and clench tightly in the strands. Moans are pushed out of Nico's mouth and into Joseph's ear with each delicious thrust. He bites down on the lobe and says, “Harder. Fuck me, Joseph, fill me up with your come.”

Joseph bares his teeth at that and something very old rears its head. He wants to mark him, fill him with so much come that he swells, wants to give him so much pleasure that he dies from it.

“Fuck me harder – yes – pull my hair –“ Joseph pulls his hair hard enough that his neck arches back.

“Yes, yes, please, like that Joseph, oh, my heart, fuck me please –“ Nico seizes and then shudders beneath him, his body gripping Joseph even tighter than before, and Joseph grits his teeth and fucks him through it.

Joseph’s hips are still rolling, his cock is still hard and aching inside. Nico catches his heated gaze and grabs one of Joseph’s hands out of his hair. He brings it to his mouth, sucks two fingers between his lips and teeth and then bites down _hard_ , and it is this - overwhelming pleasure with a hit of pain - that sends Joseph spiraling into a devastating orgasm. As it takes him he’s conscious only of the rolling pleasure and Nico’s delirious words that draw him deeper and deeper into it. “Yes, my love, yes, fill me with you, I am yours, I am _yours…”_

Eventually, they come back to themselves. Nico huffs out a small laugh. “My God that was good.”

“It was." Joseph kisses his neck and bites tenderly at the delicate skin there, causing something of an orgasmic aftershock to pulse through Nico’s body. They both moan; Nico from the pleasure and Joseph from the way Nico’s body tightens up with it.

Their breathing evens out. Nico draws a hand idly through Joseph’s curls.

“I believe we may have been louder than we meant to,” he finally says.

Joseph grimaces in agreement. “Yes,” he says. “But you were louder than me.”

Nico pushes at Joseph in mock irritation. “That is a grievously inaccurate assessment of what just occurred.”

Joseph is too euphoric from ‘what just occurred’ to fight him on it. “You’re almost certainly correct. Right now, I find I can’t bring myself to care.” Nico hums contentedly in agreement. Later, they will get up and wash and rearrange themselves into their public selves, but for now, they doze.

* * *

In the parlor, Andy pours another glass of vodka and hands it to Sebastien. “They really love each other, so it’s hard to begrudge them,” she sighs. She folds herself back into one corner of the couch and tucks her feet up under her long skirts. “But I have to say – usually they’re far more discreet. You’ll get used to it, anyways.”

Sebastien drinks from his glass and considers what he'll be getting used to. Being in such close contact with two people who have each other to cling to, while he flounders alone. He's not sure he'll get used to that at all. But he takes another sip and gives a polite smile in response. That is for the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes the title is from Beloved, and do I think Toni Morrison would be happy it's the title of this fic? Ummm.....
> 
> Drop a kudos or comment if you dug it, and I hope you did.


End file.
